"I know nothing. Speak, if you want to remain a man."
"The prophecy--the priests warned us about you, that you were the
heathen conqueror of the prophecy.... Later they said that--" the
guard's desperate eyes turned to Freha. "They said you, your majesty--"
His voice trailed off.
"Say on," she snapped. "Give me the priests' own words. By Dannos,
they'll all swing for this! I am still Empress of Valkarion!"
Alfric looked at her in sudden shock, as if he had been clubbed.
Empress--the Empress of Valkarion--
"But--they said you were not, your majesty ... the Emperor is dead, he
died soon after sundown--"
"As soon as I was gone, eh? A priest's work, I am thinking. Someone
will answer for that. Go on!"
"The High Priest sent word over the city. He told of the prophecy--we
all knew of that, but he told it anew. But he said the heathen king
could still be slain, and offered a thousand gildars to the man who
did it." The guard gulped. "Then he said you--forgive me, lady, you
asked for his words--he said since the Dynasty was now dead, the Temple
would rule till further arrangements could be made. But the Empress
Hildaborg, half barbarian, idolatrous witch--those were his words, your
majesty--she lay under the Temple's ban. He said she was to be killed,
or better captured, with the heathen stranger, with whom she would
probably join forces. He put the most solemn curse of the Two Moons on
anyone who should aid you and the man, or even fail to help hunt for
you--" The guardsman sank to his knees, shaking. "Lady, forgive me! I
have a family, I was afraid to refuse--"
"What of my Household troops?" she snapped.
"The priests sent a detachment of the city guards against them--a
dreadful battle. The Household repelled the attack, but now they are
besieged in the palace--"
"Little help there, then." Hildaborg laughed mirthlessly. "All the city
against us, and our only friends bottled in a ring of spears. You chose
an unlucky time to enter Valkarion, Alfric."
The barbarian's head was spinning. "You are--the Empress," he gasped,
"and there's some nonsense about me.... What is this prophecy? Why
did you--" his voice, helpless with bewilderment, faded off into the
moaning wind.
"No time now, someone may be along any moment.... Where to hide, where
to hide?"
* * * * *
Alfric's eyes traveled down to the two bodies sprawled on the street.
Suddenly he laughed, a harsh metallic bark. "Why, in the very lair of
the foe!" he said. "As good citizens, it behooves us to join the hunt
for the outlaws. Here is suitable clothing for us."
She nodded, and fell at once to stripping the corpses. Alfric looked
narrowly at the prisoner. "If you betray us--" he murmured.
"I won't--by the Moons, I swear I won't--"
"Indeed you won't," said Alfric, and lifted sword to cut him down.
Hildaborg sprang up and grabbed his arm. "That's a barbarous trick,"
she exclaimed angrily. "You need only bind and gag him, and hide him in
one of these ruins."
"Why worry about the life of a guardsman?" he asked contemptuously.
Her dark head lifted in pride. "I am Empress of the guardsmen too," she
said.
"As you like," shrugged Alfric.
The captive turned a face of utter worship to the woman. "You must
secure me," he said, his voice shaking. "But when I am released, my
body and soul are yours forever, my lady."
Hildaborg smiled, and proceeded to cut strips of cloth and dispose of
the guard as she had said. Then she turned to Alfric. "You are hard of
heart," she murmured, "but perhaps Valkarion needs one like you, strong
and ruthless." Her deep eyes glowed. "How you fought, Alfric! How you
fought!"
The barbarian squatted down and began wiping blood off the looted
armor. "I've had enough," he growled. "I've been hoodwinked and hounded
over the whole damned city, I've been thrown into a broil I never heard
of, and now I want some truth. What is this prophecy? Why are you here?
What does everyone want--" he laughed humorlessly--"besides our heads?"
"The prophecy--it is in the Book of the Sibyl, Alfric. It was made I
know not how many thousands or tens of thousands of years ago, at the
time of the Empire's greatest glory. There was a half-mad priestess
who chanted songs of ruin and desolation, which few believed--what
could harm the Empire? But the songs were handed down through many
generations by a few who had some faith, and slowly it was seen that
the songs spoke truth. One thing came to pass after another, just as it
was foretold. Then the songs were collected by the priesthood, who use
the book to guide their policies."
"Hmmmm--I wonder. I've no great faith in spaedom myself."
"These prophecies are true, Alfric! Now and again they have erred, but
I think that is simply because the songs had become garbled in the long
time they were handed down without much belief. All too often, the
future history in the Book has been written anew by time's own pen."
Hildaborg slipped a guardsman's tunic over her slim form. Her eyes were
half-shut, dreaming. "They say the Sibyl was loved by Dannos, who gave
her the gift of prophecy, and that Amaris jealously decreed she should
foretell evil oftener than good. But a wise man at court, who had
read much of the almost forgotten science of the ancients, told me he
thought the prophecies could be explained rationally. He said sometimes
the mind can slip forward along the--the world line, he called it,
the body's path through a space and time that are one space-time.
Sometimes, he said, one can 'remember' the future. He said the Sibyl's
mind could have followed the world lines of her descendants too, thus
traveling many ages ahead ... but be that as it may, she spaed truly,
and her prophecy of tonight is of--you!"
The warrior shook his dark head, feeling a sudden eerie weight of
destiny. "What was the tale?" he whispered. The wind whipped the words
from his mouth and whirled them down the empty street.
* * * * *
Hildaborg stood while he buckled the corselet on her, and her voice
rose in a weird chant that sang raggedly across the ruined buildings,
under the stars and the two flying moons. Even Alfric's hardy soul was
shaken by the ominous words, his hands trembling ever so faintly as he
worked.
"_Woe, woe to Dannos and to Amaris and to those who serve them, cry
woe on Valkarion and the world! The Thirty-ninth Dynasty shall end on
the night when Dannos weds again with Amaris; winds shall howl in the
streets and bear away his soul. Childless shall the Emperor die, the
Imperial line shall die with him, and a stranger shall sit in the high
throne of Valkarion._
"_He shall come riding alone and friendless, riding a gray hengist into
Valkarion on the evening of that night. A heathen from the north is he,
a worshipper of the wind and the stars, a storm which shall blow out
the last guttering candles of the Empire. From the boundless wastes of
the desert shall he ride, ruin and darkness in his train, and the last
long night of the Empire will fall when he comes._
"_Woe, Dannos, your temple will stand in flames when the heathen king
is come! Woe, Mother Amaris, he will defile your holy altars and break
them down! Gods themselves must die, their dust will whirl, on the
breath of his wind-god, the last blood of the Empire will be swallowed
by the thirsty desert._
"_Woe, for the heathen night which falls! Woe, for the bitter gray dawn
which follows! The Moons of the Empire have set, and an alien sun rides
baleful over Valkarion._"
There was silence after that, save for the hooting of wind and the thin
dry whisper of blowing sand. Dannos swung higher, a pale cold eye in
the frosty heavens. Alfric clamped his teeth together and finished the
disguise.
The armor and clothing were strained on his tall form, ill-fitting,
but with the cloak draped over, and the helmet shadowing his face,
he should pass muster. Under the cloak, across his back, he had his
broadsword--these short southern stabbers were no good.
Hildaborg was better fitted. Slim and boyish in the shining steel, her
long hair tucked under the crested helm, spear carried proudly erect,
she seemed a young goddess of war. Alfric thought dizzily that no such
woman had ever crossed even his dreams.
He hid the corpses in the ruins and they started down the street
together. "We'll try to work through the line of siege, into the
palace," he said. "Once we're with your troops, something may still be
done."
"I doubt it. They are brave men, but few--few." Her voice was bitter.
"If we can--" Alfric sank into thought for a while. Then suddenly he
said: "Now I know why the priests are after me. But what of you? Where
do you come into this picture?"
"I knew about the prophecy," she replied. "Also, I knew what my fate
was likely to be when Aureon died. The Temple and the Imperium,
ostensibly the two pillars of the Empire, have long been struggling
for power. Each side has its warriors and spies, its adherents among
the nobles and commons--oh, the last several generations have been a
weary tale of intrigue, murder, corruption, with first one side and now
another on top. The Temple wants a figurehead Emperor, the Imperium
wants a subservient priesthood--well, you know the story."
"Aye. A sorry one. It should be ended with the sword. Wipe both
miserable factions out and start anew."
* * * * *
She looked curiously at him. "So the Sibyl was not wrong," she
murmured. "The heathen come out of the north with destruction alike for
the Empire and the gods."
"Luigur take it, I don't care about Valkarion! Not even enough to
destroy it. I only want to save my own neck." His hand stroked her arm,
softly. "And yours. But go on."
"The Thirty-ninth Dynasty was the last family with any pretensions
to even a trace of the legendary Imperial blood, the line of Dannos
himself. And Aureon was the last of them--his sons slain in war,
himself an old man without relatives. The Imperial line had been
weakening and dying for generations--inbred, enfeebled, degenerate, the
blood of Dannos running thinner in each new birth. Aureon had sense
enough to take a second wife of different stock--myself, princess of
Choredon. Thereby he gained a valuable ally for Valkarion--but no
children, and now he is dead." Hildaborg sighed. "So the Imperium
is gone, the Temple is the sole power, and a strong and unscrupling
High Priest rules Valkarion. I think the Priest, Therokos, intends to
proclaim Valkarion a theocracy with himself as the head. But first, for
reasons of politics and personal hatred, he must get rid of me."
"Why should he hate you?"
Hildaborg smiled twistedly. "He disapproves of barbarians, and my
mother was from Valmannstad. He disapproves of my laxness in religious
matters. He knows I stand between him and absolute power. I gave Aureon
strength to oppose him and thwarted many of his measures. The commons
think well of me, I have done what I could to improve their lot, and he
hates any hold on Valkarion's soul other than his own.
"I knew that with Aureon dead and no heir of the blood, Therokos would
feel free to strike. I could not hope to match him for long, especially
since the law is that no woman may rule in Valkarion. My one chance
seemed to lie in the new conqueror who was to come. Yet I could not
approach him openly--the Temple spies were everywhere, and anyway the
prophecy was that he would be a destroying fury, worse perhaps than the
priests. I had to sound him out first, and secretly.
"So I put a trustworthy guards-captain in charge of the gate today,
with instructions to direct the stranger to the Falkh and Firedrake.
The landlord there was paid to make sure you would stay, and would take
the room where I was in my guise of tavern girl.
"So you came. But now it seems the priests were ware to my plan. They
have acted swifter than I thought, striking instantly at my men--I
expected at least a few days of truce. And I played into their hands by
thus cutting myself off from all help. Now they need only hunt us down
and kill us."
"'Twill take some doing," growled Alfric. "Ha, we may yet pull their
cursed temple down about their shaven skulls!"
"And so the prophecy would be fulfilled--you would blow out the last
dim flicker of light--" She stopped, staring at him, and her voice came
slowly: "Valkarion, the last citadel of civilization, the last hope of
the dying world, to be wasted by a heathen bandit--perhaps the priests
are right, Alfric of Aslak. Perhaps you should die."
"Luigur take your damned prophecy!" he snarled.
* * * * *
They stood tautly facing each other in the thin chill moonlight. The
wind blew and blew, whining between the empty ruins of houses, blowing
the dust of their erosion along the empty street.
"I know your old Imperial towns," said Alfric savagely. "I've seen
them, moldering shells, half the place deserted because the population
has shrunk so far--wearily dreaming of a dead past, grubbing up the old
works and sitting with noses buried in the old books, while robbers
howl in the deserts and thieving politicians loot the treasury. Year
by year, the towns crumble, bridges fall, canals dry up, people grow
fewer--and nobody cares. A world is blowing away in red dust, and
nobody stirs to help. By the winds of Ruho, it's about time someone
pulled down that tottering wreck you call Imperial civilization!
It's about time we forgot the past and started thinking--and
doing--something about the present. The man who burns Valkarion will be
doing the world a service!"
Silence, under the wind and the stars and the two moons marching toward
their union. Hildaborg hefted her spear until the point gleamed near
Alfric's throat.
He sneered, out of bitterness and despair and a sudden longing for her
lips. "Don't try to stick me with that toy. You saw what happened to
the guards."
"And you would kill me?" Her voice was all at once desolate; she
dropped the spearhead to the ground.
"No. But I would leave you--no, by the Holy Well, I wouldn't. But
I'd leave the damned city." He stepped forward, laying his hands on
her mailed shoulders, and his voice rang with sudden earnestness.
"Hildaborg, that is your answer. No need to stay in this place of
death. We can steal hengists and bluff our way past the gates and be
in the hills ere dawn. If you fear for Valkarion at my hands, leave
it--leave it to rot and come with me."
"Come--where?"
"Home, back to Aslak. Back to the blue hills and the windy trees and
the little lakes dancing in the sun--to an open heaven and a wide land
and free folk who look you honestly in the eye. Luigur take the Empire,
as he will whatever we do." He laughed, a joyous sound echoing in the
night. "We'll build our own stead and live as freefolk and raise a
dozen tall sons. Hildaborg, let's go!"
For a moment she stood silent. When she spoke, her voice trembled a
little, and the moonlight glinted off tears in her eyes.
"I love you for it, Alfric, and gladly would go. But Therokos is
besieging the palace--he is gathering in all who ever spoke well of
me ... shall my friends be hanged and burned and hacked to bits, and I
safe in Aslak?"
"You're a fool. What could you do for them?"
"Die. But this is no quarrel of yours, Alfric. If you wish, go, and I
shall not think of the less of you. Go--my dearest--"
He laughed again, and kissed her for a very long moment. "You are a
fool and a madwoman, and I love you for that," he said. "Come--we can
still show these priests the color of steel!"